


Out the looking Glass

by orphan_account



Series: Out of the looking glass [1]
Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bondage, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England hears a voice that both his and not his and makes the mistake of obeying it. Unleashing homicidal doppelgangers upon the nations, but these doubles know everything the countries do...all their fear, dreams and lusts; but, they have there own they'd like to indulge. and the countries must fight against them.</p>
<p>WARNING: This will get really twisted starting from chapter 2, you have been forewarned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. England- I am so sorry

England's point of view

I sat at my place at the conference, as Sweden droned on about geothermal technology. I deeply regretted the choice to have the world conference in England, in this specific month. July, the month were my rainy home finally got some sun and could I spend it down by Dover’s cliffs or Brighton’s beaches? No. I had to spend it with the rest of the world, cooped up in a old Yorkshire mansion, a dusty, warm home I’d normally save for the rain swept months of the winter. Unfortunately, the scale of the countries attending had limited the meeting place to my old winter house. I had plenty reason not to like this place, too much history mainly; home to my empire, when I had it. The stately home was massive and luxurious, but I hated it here. There was just something...off about the place.  
The meeting had started normal enough, America being idiotic, Italy talking about pasta, Germany yelling, as well as France and I having our normal hour of bickering. But as the heat poured in onto them through the windows and Sweden proceeded to talk for 2 hours on the benefits of geothermal energy, lethargy claimed us sending us all to a state of near comatose. I look around, both the Italy’s were asleep and the frog was near supine in his chair, I felt my eyes begin to close.  
“Hello poppet.”  
I sat suddenly straight in my chair at the voice. France opened his eyes in shock as the countries looked at me. (Apart from the Italy brothers who I sincerely wondered would wake up during a declaration of war, in fact now I think about it, I think that’s happened before.)  
“England do you have something to say?” Sweden asked in his normal monotone. That voice, no one else had heard it, had they? No of course not, because it was my voice. That was my voice I’d heard. But it wasn’t, it was...sweet.  
“I’m- I’m fine,” I said, with perhaps a little less conviction than I’d ideally wanted, “Sorry, I think the heat is getting to me, I’m just going to go outside for some fresh air.” Yes that had to be what it was.  
“No, it wasn’t poppet.”  
Shit, I had to get out of here, was it the fairies playing tricks? No, I had to leave, now.  
“But, of course” send the obnoxious voice of my frog faced neighbour, “you clearly aren’t adapt for anyzing other zan your normal ‘orible rainy weazer”  
“Yeah, sure,” I said quickly and left, I honestly couldn't care less, I heard America whine that I got to leave early over Sweden’s speech, which he kept on with. But I didn’t care, this voice was my own yet not my own I just needed to find out who and what this voice was. This voice much be to do with the uneasy feeling I’ve had since getting here, it must! I walked quickly through the long halls and chambers till I knew I was out of ear shot. Then I ran. I bolted to the other side of the mansion before I stopped. Whatever this thing was I needed to speak to it, and I need to be alone.  
“Who are you?” I breathed finally stopping by the kitchens,  
“oooh, poppet, that was awfully mean, running out on those dears like that,” The voice sounded genuinely hurt, but in my voice it just sounded creepy.  
“Who are you?” I repeated, this voice was grating on my patience, but it was more than that, the voice was getting stronger..and I felt myself starting to forget why I ran so far,  
“Hee hee, oh dear.” The voice grew softer, “I’m you.”  
“What? What? No, no you -“  
“No. You aren’t mad, not quite” the voice said firmly,  
“I never said I was,” I snarled ,  
“oh, but you were wondering that, were you?”  
“-who?”  
“I am you.”  
“Yes you git you said that!” I was beginning to lose my temper, “...what are you?”  
“I am you from another place...a parallel place.. and I’ve been waiting for so long.” He drew out the words longingly, but his couldn’t be right, I must be mad or ill or...but it felt so real and my temper began to fade.  
“...why have you been waiting?”  
“oh you know, the same reason you have... I’m so lonely, they left this place. One by one and... I am alone.” The voice was sad, filled with melancholy, the same lugubrious tone which had filled my voice whenever no one could hear; but, that was long ago, I wasn’t lonely now, plus I choose to be alone that’s all.  
“But you are alone poppet, aren’t you?” I gulped, this voice must be in my head, “allies that are such due to connivance alone, your brothers either despise you or do not care, no one you can truly count on, oh I know it to be true because I am you luv, you are so alone” I sank to the floor, the voice carried so much weight to them, I wrapped my head in my arms...alone.  
“But, you came, you and your magic, that’s how we can talk you see? Oh we could be such friends,” the voice sounded...happy so happy and I felt a pleasant veil draped over me, I felt so calm and happy, like nothing else bad would happen in the world as long as I was friends with the voice. I smiled into my knees. The voice was so convincing speaking to me in my own voice, like I was hearing my own conscious.  
“Where can I find you?”  
...what was I saying any more?...I just-

“Angleterre?” I look up to France, actually looking concerned, why I was happy wasn’t I? But why hadn’t I heard him, it was so very hot...no...fuzzy.  
“Oh...Frog, what do you want?” my instinctual need to insult France getting the best of me, although it did seem somewhat half hearted. Why was that again?  
“errr....everyone has gone home now; you’ve been gone for hours, are you ok?” Hours, really? It felt like minutes but...I stood up to face him, peridot eyes meeting sapphire,  
“I’m fine” France stared at me intently,  
“Non, you are not, un- you failed to insult me and deux- you said ‘I’m fine' and I know zat is English code for ‘i am going to cry into a bottle for a ‘our or possibility ave a nervously breakdown’,” no, that couldn’t be, I was happy, if only I could find the voice, maybe...

“Go and find me in the looking glass” The voice whispered.

I went rigid and turned around I walked. I had the sudden awful feeling that if I didn’t go to the basement now I’d loose the voice forever. So I left France where he stood as I walked in the opposite direction. He called out to me, insults in both English and French, demanding I come back and stop acting like a "connard". I didn’t stop; it almost felt like I couldn’t stop. As I walked off to the basement the voice whispered it to me over and over “through the looking glass” that phrase sounded so familiar but something was blocking my mind. Damn it, France was following me now, no he couldn’t be here, I had to run. So I did.  
Sprinting down the halls for the second time in as many hours with France hot on my tail, I threw myself through the door to the basement and slammed the door behind me.  
“Angleterre! Angleterre!...ENGLAND! WHAT ZE FUCK IS WRONG WIZ YOU!” I locked the door and ran the down the stairs to the basement away from France banging on the door, turning back only to yell with all the venom in my blood “GO AWAY! I HAD NEVER NEEDED YOU AND I WILL ALWAYS HATE YOU!” I paused for a moment, the veil lifting somewhat, wondering where exactly those words came from. I didn’t hate France, I mean not truly hate the frog, not for a hundred years at least maybe more if I’m being honest, and “go away” what the well was I a bloody child? That wasn’t me, that wasn’t my insults. No, to hell with this, what was I doing anyway?  
“Find me through the looking glass!” the voice spoke again more urgently this time, and once again all my temper, all my anger faded as the veil of peace and calm fell comfortingly around my shoulders, France's banging had stopped and so I continued down the steps in to my old large dust filled basement. This particular chamber I used long ago for magic, black magic, the entire room was filled with old artefacts and ruins. But, in the upper left hand corner of the room, draped in a long brown tweed coat with a blue paint stain of the sleeve, sat a mirror. I pulled the coat off and looked into the mirror, I stared into it. The mirror was not however, the typical design of modern or even civilised times. It was a large polished disc of the finest obsidian and reflected of the perfect night black surface,  
I saw myself.  
The same eyes and nose and mouth, the same crop of messy hair and slender frame, But he was moving independently finishing writing something on the floor. I couldn’t move but I wasn’t scared as he locked eyes with me. My body then began to move on its own I cut open my left wrist and I began to use the blood that poured from the wound to scribe old words from dead languages onto the mirror’s surface. It took a long time covering every inch of the walls in the basement the mirror as my other self observed me intently, I could feel his eyes on me every second, I would have been unnerving...but for some reason, it wasn't. I pushed everything else into the centre of the room to make enough space for me to scrawl on the wall.  
I had lost at least two pints of blood by the end and as I crawled towards the mirror, my vision blurred but I could see that the other England was watching my crawl, smiling kindly, like a mother watching a small child make their way across the floor. He crouched to my level and pressed a his hand to the other side of the mirror. The urge was immediate; I slammed my hand to the smooth, cool surface as if to not was to incur the wrath of the universe it’s self.  
“oscailte”. We said simultaneously, the word seem to speak for me rather than me having any control over them. There was a cracking noise and... and...  
...and hell descended as the veil lifted.  
The blood Hissed like acid and burnt into the walls and I felt the other England’s hand pushed against mine and began to force my hand back. I shot away in disgust. This was wrong, I felt like I had violated nature (more so than I’ve done before). This is why I hated this place, I remember now, this place wasn't just old, it was ancient. That mirror was created by my mother in her twilight years a barrier to seal...something bad. His spell had made me forget that, hell his spell had made me forget a quote from bloody Alice in Wonderland! I wanted to run, just to get away from...him, I knew if he got me, if he killed me- that was it. Game over as America would say. How could I being such a stupid fucking wanker! How could of I not noticed that fucking grin on his face not a kind smile, or the fact he didn’t use his blood, but the blood of some corpse lying in the middle of his floor and I had been under this fucking psycho, bastard’s spell! That god damned veil! He was coming, shit. SHIT! Think there must be a way to stop him, I couldn't let this fucking bastard out, there had to be a way to stop him. I couldn’t let him hurt anyone like...the poor soul he cut up for this ritual.  
But there wasn’t.  
I was too drowsy and weak from blood loss to run or perform a counter spell, he had planned it out well, but...my phone...yes my phone if I could just call somebody, ANYBODY!  
The other England’s progress was getting quicker, the disc of fine obsidian was left swimming like a pool of black tar. The other England eased himself through, pushing through the thick, black liquid. I crawled away as quickly as I could, trying to get out as he finally slipped out and dusted himself off. Now that I saw without the black mirror's interference I saw the differences in my parallel self. My hay toned hair on him was a light strawberry blonde, my clothes in there normal grey and brown shades had been subverted into a palette of pastel with a pink waist coat and a bow-tie to match his violently turquoise eyes, his face was lightly freckled and pulled into a abhorrent grin. I desperately dialled the Frog’s number; he had been yelling at me a while ago, he knew something was wrong, and if this freak really was another me there is no one better to fight him than that wine bastard! The phone rang ... and rang...but no one picked up. I closed my eyes in despair, “damn,”I thought as the other England walked over to me, standing over me, smiling ominously with my own mouth and holding syringe containing a blue viscous fluid, I managed to choke out three words to the answering machine before I lost...to me.  
“I’m so sorry,”  
before I hung up, the other England stabbed the needle into my arm as he cooed gently to me and lowered me on to my back. Fuck this bastard if he thinks being careful with me now would do anything after he drugged me and made me rip out my wrist with my teeth. I felt my body go numb as he smiled over me and purred,  
“Sorry luv, but I lied.” My eyes grew wide as I saw other figures through the mirror, “I am not alone.”  
And everything went black.


	2. France- Too much sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They must be in hell, the British can cook

I had spent a week mulling over the world meeting. Well, not exactly the meeting exactly rather England’s behaviour through the whole ordeal. I knew England well- better than anyone else on the planet actually, and the way he acted...wasn’t him. All that childish bullshit he had come out with made me want to throttle him (more than normal), and I would of...if I knew where the hell he was. After a few days of adamantly refusing to acknowledge his existence, even deleting a message he sent me that day (probably telling me to “go away again”), I phoned him, and of course he didn’t pick up. Why would he? He wanted me to “go away” so much then I’d leave him alone like the sad little creature he was, I don’t know what I done to upset him....recently anyway; but, that grumpy idiot would always find a reason to hate me for no good reason, even when I thought we were getting along so well. Ok I probably shouldn't of deleted that message.  
That when he phoned.  
He wasn't irritated or grumpy like he normally was, no he was....chirpy? I tried to talking him, but he just talked over me, like he was a pre-recorded message or something. He was inviting me over for tea and cakes. Ok this was weird. England, despite his obsession with the drink, did NOT have people round for tea parties; whiskey and beer yes, but not tea, he hadn’t held a tea party in over fifty years and over a hundred year since the last time he invited me to one. (And that was only because he had to.)  
“You should meet at the old Yorkshire mansion at exactly 12pm...” This was strange- really strange, he sounded too happy and too cold at the same time, almost metallic, if I hadn’t known better I’d say it was another person; but it was definitely the same voice, the same alternating tune between Eton educated class and cockney slang, with subtle hints of northern and West country drawl thrown in for good measure.  
I tried to convince myself that nothing was wrong as the Euro star took me through the channel tunnel, just to ease my mind. I played music and watched silly little TV shows on my phone to distract me, because something was wrong, very wrong; and I felt physically sick at the thought, like someone had driven a key into my gut and was turning it slowly. That childish and hateful insult and now all happy and sweet- what had happened?  
Those poisonous thoughts tormented me all the way up from King’s cross to Leicester in the small Fiat I had hired out over the weekend, and continued to do so through the night, completely ruining the actually descent hotel I had manage to book is this rainy little English county.  
I didn’t sleep much, my mind full of weird theories as to why he would be acting like this, including one in which he had become a fairy sex slave that I probably spent a little too much time dwelling on, so when I woke up at 10am to leave for the mansion I was less prepared than I would of like to of been. Although, with a shower, some moisturiser, some cologne and a comb; I was looking a damn sight better than most countries anyway.  
I drove up to the mansion in all its finery and its typical English gaudy majesty, to find three other cars already parked. It seemed we had all arrived at practically the same time; the words “exactly 12pm” rang out through my mind as I watched my accompanying party park and get out of their respective cars as I did the same. America stepped out of one car and Japan and Spain out of the others.  
“Hola Francia!” Spain called from across the courtyard as we joined together outside the front door. “Do joo hrrve any idea why Inglaterra wanted a tea party?” Spain asked, America nodded firmly in agreement,  
“It is most unusural for England-san to be this social, especiary with a pass-time that has fallen out or popurarity as of rate.” Japan murmured, more to himself than to the rest of us, but he made a valid point. England never held tea parties any more; they weren't in fashion, plus they were completely impractical for him personally. Afternoon tea required fine and delicate cakes and pastries...something that England had never been good at. Ever.  
“I mean I haven’t been to one of England’s tea parties since I was a kid, why the hell is he doing one now?” Ok, so even America was confused, in fact nobody here had a truly good reason for England to invite them over for a tea party. It’s was strange how a few out of character actions could bring all he knew about a man that I had known since the fall of Gaul herself into question. I knocked on the door with the others at my tail. I had never particularly liked this place, something I remember once about England saying the site on with it was built being to do with black magic or something of bizarre .  
The door opened and England stood there. Dirty blonde hair ruffled and bottle green eye glimmering, and he was smiling.  
“Hello, Hello! My dears please do come in.” I exchanged glances with America, this was really weird. 'Dears'? What was with this use of terms of endearment? England ushered us all through the hall and through several rooms as he struck up a conversation about hello kitty with Japan. The more we walked the more I could smell, oh, such delightful smells, cinnamon and cardamom dancing with the delicate fragrance of Camomile and Lavender. It certainly wasn’t unpleasant but...the smell of old books and new bluebells seemed to have become lost under the power of these new smells, familiarity and comfort lost to...wait, just where the hell where they coming from-  
I stopped in my tracks as I saw the spread laid out before us. Cakes upon cakes sat seductively on the table, Victoria sponges and Swiss rolls, perfectly baked adorned each corner of the table, to be surrounded by chocolate torts and plates of macarons, all filled with the most perfect butter cream, and so many more beautiful little treats. But... the centre piece, it looked so odd, little red fairy cakes topped with bright blue icing. Each place setting had a steaming cup of tea already poured for each of them in their preferred blend. Our little congregation stared in such absolute amazement at the lay out that it was almost terror, we remained speechless for a good minute before England spoke.  
“Do sit down dear and help yourself, I was up all night baking this.”  
“Liar,” America retorted without missing a beat, nodding agreements from Japan, Spain was still in shock it seemed. I felt the key turn further, “Dude, there is like no way you could have made this, you can’t cook- like anything!” England pouted at this, he looked like a child that had been told he'd been naughty,  
“sit down!” he snapped suddenly, he had the same venom in his voice as before, the four of us shared a look before sitting, “I’ve been taking lessons..” he said coolly and served them each a selection of the confections on offer, including one of those weird fairy cakes.  
“Is zat why I ‘aven’t been able to contact you zis week Angleterre?” I interjected sharply, England look at me coldly as he sat down, there was something odd about those eyes, something I couldn't quite place. There was a moment of silence through to room, only interrupted my America looking around for any indication that he was allowed to start. England smiled, a cool, calculated smile and purred, “ yes pet, that is exactly why,” England turned to smile at America’s fidgeting, “please eat,” he said kindly. Damn it America, I was counting on you to back me up when I questioned England about him acting weird, trust you of all people to get distracted from your brother acting like a completely different person by your stomach.  
America took a large slice of Victoria and sniffed at it, like a dog at a bone, before taking a tentative bite. Japan, Spain and I stared at America as he chewed, waiting for the inevitable choking and retching to come. But it didn't.  
“Holy shit, this is actually good!” America said in a mix of joy and absolute shock, before stuffing the rest of the slice into his mouth and grabbing another. “I mean really REALLY good!” Japan looked uneasy and stole a glance at the sweetly smiling England who nodded encouragingly as Japan cautiously picked up a macaron and took a bite as America stuffed his face with a large piece of Frasier cake. Japan took a bite- and his eyes lit up, “America-san is right, this is dericious!” Japan grabbed at another macaron, and then another...and another. I stared first at the two gorging themselves on England’s food is dumbfounded shock before I turned to face Spain, who seemed to be wearing a similar expression.  
“What’s wrong dears?” England asked with big wide eyes deeply staring at us both,  
“Err, no dere is noting wrong...” Spain slowly mumbled as he picked up a slice of gateaux and took a bite: but, there was no way I was eating any, not only because my gut felt so twisted that I feared I'd throw up any thing that even the finest chefs has prepared, but also, I would never eat anything of England’s because England could not cook! FACT. I stood up, Spain exclaimed in delight and began devouring a plate of short bread.  
“Désolé Angleterre, but I am not ‘ungry” I breathed, backing away from the table as I the three gorged on the sweets seemingly unaware of my sudden desire to get away from that food; however, England smile seemed to twist more as he stood up with me and walked towards me, slowly, like a cat cornering a mouse.  
“You’re not going to go now luv?” There was a dangerous calm about his voice when he spoke those words,  
“Listen, Angleterre I don’t know what wrong with you-“  
“luv, there is nothing wrong with me,” he purred, “but, if you’re feeling a bit off... I do have a present just for you in the next room. He walked passed me and opened a door that he held open for me, funny how a open door can have all the seeming of a lion’s maw. Then why was I walking in, because, despite his strange behaviour, despite the fact I wasn’t even sure if he was still in his right mind, it was still England, who had the uncanny knack of making me follow him into the dark...always.  
So I did it again, my mind praying that someone, maybe Italy or Prussia maybe, would jump out of a cupboard screaming “SUPRIZE!” and laugh at my expense, it would turn out that caterers had made the food and the other three that were at the moment savagely, grotesquely, mindlessly consuming the table of food with all the grace of rabid pigs, were all in on this stupid joke England had put together. But, that jump from Prussia never came and the three behind him didn't stop eating, because it wasn’t a joke, England despite himself had a good, if strange and dry, sense of humour and I wasn't smiling.  
I walked into the room, it was another empty lounge, like the multiple others in this house; however, it wasn't for long that I was allowed to appreciate the room as the door close and I turned around... only to have a pair of soft pale lips press against mine.  
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, but I was kissing back of course- of course I was. I pulled him into the kiss desperately, eating his lips and dancing my tongue over his. Was this why my stomach that had been such a dire ball of nerves up until now? This was why he had been acting to strange? England was so emotionally repressed by that stiff upper lip of his that his whole façade had been his own bitter and twister way to get sex from me. Yeah, that was right. I mean it wasn’t like we hadn’t done things before, but, England tended to be so horny and drunk that he’s jump anything with a pulse.  
This was different though, England’s body pushed into mine so... submissively. His slender form bending to my touch perfectly and- oh, I laughed internally as he began to undo the remaining buttons on my shirt. He was being gentle, considerate and submissive; everything I’d complained for years of him not being.  
I broke the kiss and gently pushed him back. I looked at the floor, panting gently before looking and him dead in the eyes. For a brief second as I raised my head I almost saw a furious grimace on his face out of the corner of my eye before it was replaced with a sweet and oh so cute look of virginal lust.  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, he’s voice tinged with the same breed of innocence that drove all blood from my brain,  
“Haah...oui...ah... Angleterre may I ask you a question before we start zis?” I breathed, being barely able to control myself as I felt those wide green eyes bore in my own, all dancing with desire in their beauty.  
“What is it?” He sounded impatient, I thought for a moment that I should forget my stupid idea and get on with it. It was so obvious, he was clearly in love with me and had to put of some big charade to admit it and... shit...that really did sound stupid. I gripped his shoulders tightly as I asked something that only he would know, that he had to know,  
“Back...long ago...when the Normans invaded and I captured you... you said a rhyme to me, just a verse, but you told me it again after the battle of Trafalgar...so tell me again- what was it?” The innocent look drained from his face and was replaced by a cold, almost malevolent expression,  
“I don’t know-“ I gritted my teeth,  
“and why is that?” I asked,  
“because I wasn’t there.” He said smoothly. I let my hands fall from his shoulders and let out a deep sigh.  
Before I curled my fingers into a fist, and slammed it into the fake Arthurs face. He was sent flying into a coffee table, lip split and nose bleeding, crumpled on the floor...smiling.  
“hmmm...the same hit, so much is different, but he has the same hit...ha...constants and variables it seems” he mumbled as he almost lovingly caressed his injuries.  
“Who- WHO ZEE FUCK ARE YOU?” I walked over to the false English nation, grinning like a manic Cheshire cat, “ANSWER ME!” I roared, every marrow on every bone in my body burning with such a rage that had not filled me for seventy years.  
“Oh, luv,” he purred, “I’m everything he is and isn’t, what he locks away in the darkest corner of his mind and-“ my fist connected with his gut,  
“CASSE TOI!” I roared, I stood over him waning to beat him more and more, but the bastard seemed to enjoy my beatings, still wearing that fucking smile. “Where is 'ee?” I asked the twisted copy, he smiled up at me, silently. I growling at the bleeding copy I stormed pass him slamming open the door,  
“AMÉRIQUE! JAP-no” the three were no longer gorging themselves on the spread but where lying, eyes closed over the table, “NON!” I screamed and ran to Spain’s side grabbing his limp body and shaking him violently, “WAKE UP!” I screamed to his unmoving form,  
“that won’t help luv” sang the chilling voice of the copy who had now picked himself off the floor and had begun to gently dab the blood leaking from his mouth and nose as he smirked in the door way. “oh luv don’t worry they aren’t dead, but they will be out for quite some time, a special ingredient in my lovely confections” He sauntered into the room and smiled that twisted smile of his on that stolen face in that stolen body,  
“where... is... Angleterre?...” I curled one hand over Spain’s shoulder, the other over America’s with Japan in the middle as I stood over their sleeping forms, any and all protective paternal instant remaining from my time caring for Canada and Seychelles defending them from the deranged Englishman in front of me.  
“Oh, he’s just fine and don’t worry, you will be seeing your dear sweet enemy again soon luv,” he looked at his clothing as he spoke, staring disapprovingly at the cotton shirt and green sleeveless jumper. “I suppose since you’re not exactly going anywhere I can remove my glamour” He giggled,  
“Glamour? Que-“ I then watched in morbid fascination as he traced a line from his crown to his toe, purring old ancient words from before history was wrote. Colours melded and drained from his body and clothing, hair the colour of Cornish beaches bled out into a light red tinged blond of a dying leaf; his skin, already a fine alabaster, seemed to pale further, uncovering a spattering of small brown freckles over his cheeks and nose and the forest green of those eyes, those familiar ancient emeralds became twisted into the purest turquoise. His clothes oozed out their original colours leaving them bleached shades of pink, white and beige. He pulled off his tie and let it drop to the floor, before, slipping on a bright turquoise bow-tie that he pulled from his pocket.  
“Ahh,” he sighed, “I feel SO much better now... now, my dear, you’re a good kisser I hope you know,” He said humorously as he advanced on me, I growled and balled my hands into fists,  
“ooever you are, tell me where Angleterre is NOW and per’aps I won’t kill you!”  
“aww, you are so precious deary, but you won’t, I know you won’t” he hissed. My eyes narrowed to slits as I glared at the insane man in front of me, “you are going to come with me now, because if I don’t return to where he is kept in the next hour... well, bad things will happen; but, don’t fret luv, these three will be fine, while it was my original intention to take all of you, I am more than happy to settle for just you, my dear. Come with me and I will not hurt anyone else.”  
“...and if I refuse, what will ‘appen to Angleterre?” I asked solemnly knowing he was the bargaining chip in this, I knew England could take care of himself; but, the confidence and conviction the copy spoke with, like he had already won,  
“Oh, I won’t kill him, no I need him alive...” then something seemed to pull its way on to his face, something dark, cruel and sadistic, a toothy grin so diabolically reminiscent of my England during his most sadistic days when he’s laugh as men were torn into pieces by braying torture horses “But you know as well as I my dear...that there are things one can be subjected to that are far worse than death... lots of things.”  
“ ‘e ‘as ‘ad worse, from moi most of ze time” I hissed triumphantly, I had all but decapitated England in the past, disembowelling him a few times, I could not imagine him giving in to torture so easily, plus he was a slippery as the eels that lined the Thames. My old enemy would not be defeated so easily,  
“ But, they are things that even you won’t do luv, things that can kill without killing... like letting go of your restraint and making my counterpart do all the bad things you want him to do, make him scream and sob as flesh drives into him, again and again, whether he likes it or no-“  
“NO!” I yelled, that was too far, this freak, this repulsive copy; would he really... do that? Rape England? My stomach curled in on itself own more and I retched as that cruel smile cemented his intentions.  
“Tu es fou!” I snarled, “Salaud...Merde!” I gripped my hair in frustration, tangling the long locks in my fingers. But, I thought, if I get this insane bastard to take me to the real England, if he’s breathing, if he has his wits then... There is a chance, no, assuming he’s drugged like these guys then, I could just get him out and thinking clearly then, everything would be fine. “Fine, as long as you don’t dare touch Angleterre or ze ozers!,”  
“You have my word as gentleman,” We smiled a sickly sweet beam of the direst cruelty.  
He pulled, seemingly from midair a small, perfectly formed chocolate truffle, dusted in the finest cacao powder. He held it daintily between his thumb and forefinger letting the light dance on careful painted lettering in gold leaf; reading ‘EAT ME’. , “Now if you could follow the instructions given,” he purred, I glared into the pools of aqua marine and slipped the truffle into my mouth.  
It tasted divine, the subtleties of the rich chocolate and champagne danced over my palette only to be painfully disrupted but a metallic tang as I swallowed the confection with some difficulty due to my repulsed organs, it’s was drugged- of course it was, I never expected anything less. “Oh, by the way, what was that rhyme the other me told you those times?” I glowered a look of absolute fury.  
“I may be small but come one night  
I will make you pay,  
For I am England, dear Monsieur  
And I will rule the world someday.” I spoke to words softly almost to myself with a gentle nostalgia,  
“ahh... how droll,” that stolen voice wavered in my ear as my vision blurred and I fell to the floor, I could just make him out as he crouched beside me. “Shh pet... it’s all over now” and my eyes fell shut.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
..  
..  
..  
...  
...  
...  
I’m so tired...  
...  
...  
...  
...  
..  
So..  
..  
.  
“He put up more of a fight than the other one,”  
..  
.  
That copy...  
..  
“Huh...’ee won’t be any trouble, I’ll make sure of it”  
..  
.  
..What was that?  
..  
.. A second voice?  
.  
And why did he sound French?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will continue from here, it wont be pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry the first chapter is a bit short, the next chapter will be a bit juicer...and smuttier!


End file.
